


Theon's New Fate

by nanjcsy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, game of thrones
Genre: Abuse, Brazen Bull, Burning, Caging, Captivity, Claustrophobia, Cockroaches, Degradation, Dehydration, Dungeons, Fisting, Forced Nudity, Forced blow-jobs, Humiliation, Imprisonment, Isolation, Pain, Post-Sack-of-Winterfell, Rape, Rats, Sexual Abuse, Starvation, Tooth-Pulling, Torture, Vermin-eating, Vomit, Whipping, X-Rack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanjcsy/pseuds/nanjcsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dark, sick tale of what REALLY happened the first night Theon's ass got hauled to the Dreadfort.<br/>Told with the combination of Nanjcsy's darkest mental wanderings, and my own.<br/>Poor, poor Theon. We're sorry. (Not really)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Squirm

Agony and nausea seared Theon’s body. An itchy hood kept him in darkness, but he could tell he was upside-down, being dragged. Patches of color swam in front of his eyes. He moaned. Vomit burned his throat and mouth.

Someone yanked the hood away. He was being dragged from a horse through the middle of a battlefield. Corpses lay scattered around him, buzzing with flies. His armor was gone, and the clothes underneath had once been his best finery, but now they looked like rags.  
Where am I? he thought.

Then he saw his horse’s charred remains, and he remembered. Winterfell. He threw up again.  
Chunks of vomit spilled from his mouth, and stuck to his face and hair. He shuddered with pain, disgust and humiliation.

One of the horsemen laughed and muttered something, but Theon couldn’t hear.  
Then came the boot to his head. More laughter. More pain. The black patches swam bigger, fuzzier, in front of his eyes. He let his eyes close, lost into those brilliant shards of color and pain.

When he came to, Theon was being dragged again, but not on a horse. He was inside,somewhere where concrete scraped into his flesh and mildewy water dripped from far away. Everything smelled like blood.

A sound came from Theon that could not be his. It was the sound of a keening animal, the last in the pen to be butchered, waiting to die.

He opened his eyes. Two men dragged him through a narrow, gray dungeon with rats in the corners and flecks of gore on the wrought-iron cell bars. One man was tall, thin and sallow, with hints of yellow in his skin. The other was built like a butcher and carried a long, oily whip.

“Last cell, Damon,” said the yellow one. Sick amusement lurked within his voice.

The two men dragged Theon further down the hall into the very last cell.. He had to stand; to fight. He was Ironborn. He struggled to his knees and almost screamed. Standing felt like a spear to the stomach. He bowled over and lay on the ground, curled on his side, unable to stop the keening that broke through his throat. 

He studied the cell through eyes that swam with blood. It was tiny, just a few feet around, but too dark to make out the detail. A torture rack shaped like a giant X hung from one corner, stained with other people’s dried shit and blood. It smelled like death.

“You still need practice with the dungeon prisoners,” the yellow bastard said to the one with the whip, ignoring Theon completely. “Cut them rags off his back. Search him. If he fights...use that whip. It’ll be fun.”

Theon’s heart pounded. As his eyes adjusted, he could see the cell better. A privy hole sat in one corner, and from the hole crawled cockroaches, the likes of which he’d never seen before. Most were bigger than his little finger; one was almost the size of his fist. Rats waited in the dark, too, their glittering eyes beady and lustful for blood. 

Damon with the whip leaned over him with a bloodthirsty smile. “Strip.”

Theon clenched his teeth. He tried to sound brash and strong, the way he should, as an Ironborn, but the nausea distorted his voice and made it tremble.  
“Nnno…” He managed, “No! I don’t belong here! I am a Lord, I am Theon Greyjoy, my father is-” He gasped in pain and his throat could take no more either. He couldn’t do more than make raspy sounds.

Theon’s jailer-in-training kicked him, hard.

Theon gathered the last of his strength. His mouth was dry. His whole throat screamed for water. He wanted to beg for a drink, but he was the son of Balon Greyjoy. He could not stoop that low.

He mustered the strength to speak. “Fuck you.”

Damon kicked him again, harder. Theon landed on his knees. His mouth was bleeding. A tooth knocked loose and swam in his blood.  
Both men roared with laughter.

Everything blurred. Theon tried to stand up, but the knife came at him first. It was cold and sharp against his neck.

“If you move,” snarled the whip-holder, “I’ll shove this up your ass. You won’t die, but you’ll wish for it.” 

The other man snickered as the first captor sliced Theon’s clothes away until he stood there naked and shivering in the filthy cell.

“Soon you’ll beg for death just like all the other sick fucks who wind up here,” the whip-holder said. “But there’s lots of time for that.”

“Fuck you,” Theon said again. He could survive this and remain a proper man. He must. He was Ironborn, and a Prince. What would Balon think if he could see him and he were sniveling?

The whip-holder grinned.

“I think we just might, later. But first...oh, there’s so much time to play games.”

Theon’s chin trembled. For the first time, he was grateful for the dark.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, hating how piteous and pathetic he sounded. “I can give you money. Isles. Woman. Whatever you want.”

The men stepped closer, holding the lantern closer to Theon. He was shaking, and they looked at him pointedly, and smirked.

“What I want,” said the yellow-skinned leader, “Is for you to shut the fuck up and spread your ass for us. Lean over.”

Theon shook his head fiercely. A bolt of angry strength came back to him, but not enough. He tried to spit at them, but it was just blood that came out, and it bubbled over his lips and dripped down his chin. Suddenly his throat hurt. His head throbbed. He felt freezing and feverish at the same time, and weak, so very weak.

Both the men were upon his naked body. One grabbed his arms and slammed him forward, so his head cracked into the wall. The scream tore through his throat before he could stop it. 

Theon bit his tongue and squeezed his eyes shut as the man’s finger dug inside him, first one finger, then two, then three. Then he started screaming, and he felt like he was being torn in half. He realized the man had stuck his whole fist inside...inside….

“Please!” he screamed. This had to stop. This was not right--not something he could stand.

The men roared with laughter. “Listen to him squeal! Gut him like a feast pig!”

The fist shook and pumped now, and Theon’s sobs turned to racking, howling wails. 

Then the pain ended. His torturer stopped suddenly, then pulled his fist out, making a sucking, popping noise in the process. He shoved the fist in front of Theon’s face. It was now covered in blood.

“Lick it off,” he snarled. “Or I’ll do it again.”

“Or we’ll bugger you,” the second man added, smirking from where he watched. “We’ll both bugger you, and let all the other guards watch.”

Then felt like he was on fire. He felt like his innards would slip out of him, and he would die. How could anyone survive this? He leaned down and looked at the blood on the man’s hand. It was slick and slimy, and smelled like metal. 

Theon hung his head. He blocked out images of his father, of Asha, of Robb. Then, fighting the feeling he was about to pass out, he leaned forward like a beaten dog and used the last of the strength to lick the foul blood from his captor’s hand.

The agony sharpened now, until it was a blinding white knife all around him, and inside him, scraping away his soul. He licked off all the blood and kept licking when it was gone. Suddenly he realized he hadn’t eaten since before the battle. When had that been? Two days ago? Three?

“Please,” he began, half delirious. “Please, I’m…” Then he remembered where he was, and stopped.

“He’s what?” asked the whip-bearer, Damon was his name.

“Hungry,” said the yellow-skinned one, rolling his eyes. “Like we give a fuck?” He turned to Theon, and his voice took on a sneering, mocking tone. “Do you think we’re going to spoon-feed you a nice warm dinner? I suppose you expect a bath and a soft bed, too.”

Hearing the words made Theon’s sobs start all over again. What he wouldn’t give for a rescuer; or even a friend. A kind word, a washcloth, a single drop of water. 

The other man scoffed. “We’re not in that sort of business here.” Then the jailer looked around, and his eyes stopped at the old privy hole brimming with roaches. Theon followed the glance. The insects were even bigger than he’d thought; they were three inches long, some of them four, with beady eyes and long antennas that had bristles all of their own. 

With a malicious gleam in his eye, the jailer drawled, “I am sure we can find you a fine meal right in here though.” Theon shook his head and made another attempt at a hoarse plea. The man grabbed a fistful of his hair and began to drag Theon towards the hole. Damon laughed at the prisoner’s pathetic attempt to drag himself backwards. They can’t do this to me, I can’t eat one of those things, Theon thought. Just the sight of the large bugs scuttling made his stomach lurch painfully.

Dragged forward, his jaw clenched shut, Theon whimpered and shut his eyes. Too wounded, too sore and sick, he was useless in his own defense. All he could do was close his eyes and try to deny what was happening. When thick fingers yanked his mouth open, Theon bit down hard on a finger. The scream was satisfying but the fist that broke two teeth was another agony to add to so many. Theon choked on blood and shards as his head was yanked back. 

Theon spit blood and teeth but then something else was shoved into his mouth. No, no, it wasn’t, Theon’s own mind rejected it. A large hand kept Theon’s mouth shut and this...this thing was moving in his mouth. With horror, he could feel legs scratching at his tongue, he could feel the smooth shell and vomit surged upwards. The hand did not relent and Theon bit down to crush this thing rather than let it squirm in his mouth. WIth a wretched sound, it crunched and terrible flavors filled his mouth. Vomit splattered the large hand and with a sound of disgust, Damon let go. Theon leaned forward and more sickness drowned the twitching bug. 

He heaved. His stomach was too empty to vomit, but he doubled over, panting and gasping. He wanted suddenly to curl up in a ball and rock back and forth; to stroke his own hair with one hand. At least then he could shut his eyes and pretend it was someone else, pretend there was even one person in the world who had any love for him. But he could not make such a move in front of these men, so he shut his eyes instead. He prayed the Drowned God that the darkness would kill him. 

His captors began to titter. Theon forced his eyes open. The other man grabbed another roach, smaller this time. He held the squirming insect between two fingers and growled. “You eat this or I am going to start shoving these up your ass.” With a sob, Theon nodded and opened his mouth. A keening whine came from deep inside as the bug was shoved in his mouth. Do it fast, don’t think about it, just do it fast. He tried to bite hard then swallow and then dry heaved. “If you throw it up, I’ll make you lick it off the floor while I take the skin off your back.” Threatened Damon while cracking his whip. By some miracle Theon managed to keep it down.

They went through another four this way. ThenDamon discovered the insect that was almost as large as Theon’s fist. It had been hiding under the X-rack, twitching its antennas, watching them with its beady roach eyes that almost glittered. It was so big that its shell was plated, like a lobster, and it made a noise between a clicking and a hissing when Damon picked it up.

It barely fit in his mouth. Its top half gagged him, while the bottom half hung out of his mouth, twitching and thrashing. Theon began to sob as the men pried it into his mouth and clamped his lips shut. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop, and his tormentors only laughed harder. It felt like hours for them to cram the enormous cockroach into his mouth, and force him to chew and swallow it. When it was done, they looked around the room for another means to have their fun.

“This is getting boring,” said the yellow-skinned captor. “I say we go fuck that Kyra bitch across the dungeon.”

Damon nodded. “Aye. But the Bastard will be in soon. Shall we find the lamp oil first?”

Theon jerked his head up, feeling queasy once again. Who was the Bastard, and what did he plan to do to him, and why would it involve lamp oil?

The yellow man shook his head. “No. Ramsay likes it dry.”

Understanding dawned on him then. He let out a defeated moan. But by that time, the two men had left, slamming the door behind them and leaving Theon in total blackness. He felt the tickle of more bugs crawling on him, and, finally alone, he began to whimper.


	2. Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The depravity continues.

No one had come, and Theon had sat alone for days. How many days? Two more? Three? He had no way to tell in the dark, but it had been long enough for the hunger pains to make his stomach bloat. Long enough for dehydration to make his tongue turn shriveled, almost hard, and stuck to the back of his mouth like a dead slug.

He moaned in pain. Please, he thought, somebody let me out. Let me out or kill me.

Something furry scurried across him. He reached out toward it, but his hand fell helplessly with weakness just a few inches away. He keened like a broken animal. The grungy rats and thickly-plated cockroaches were fearless with crawling on him now; they knew he was too weak to fight, so they crawled across his naked flesh and through his hair and sometimes into his mouth, eating what they could.  
If Theon weren’t too weak to catch them, he would have eaten them. But now he just cried, in a manner that no man should, angry and disgraced and ashamed. 

Fresh tears ripped through him in harsh sobs.

It must have been Robb who had taken him. But Robb could not know what this place was like--what this hell was like. Or else he would have simply sent for his death...right? Robb would want Theon held until he could take off his head himself. Fine, good, he thought, I can accept it for what I have done. Beheading would be dignified at least. He knew Robb well, he would never condone torture, even Jaime Lannister was guarded from any actual harm. Robb must come for him soon, for his head and Theon will beg for his torturers to be brought to justice as well. 

A new sound came in the dark, footsteps from the hallway outside the door. It was only a single man, Theon could tell that much. But was it this Bastard who liked it dry? Just the thought made Theon’s stomach cramp again. He tried to move into a corner, but he was too weak. He winced and curled into a ball, trying in vain to stop his tears. In his terror, they only came stronger.

A scraping, grating noise cut through the silence, and piercing light jabbed into his eyes like a knife. A huge, hulking figure, made all of shadow like a monster from the children’s tales, stood in the doorway. Who was this? Certainly not Robb; this man was too large, tall and imposing, larger than life itself. Was this the Bastard who liked it dry? 

The man stepped forward and grinned down at Theon, sizing him up. Theon’s nakedness had never made him feel so helpless before. The visitor was massive, tall and wide, not fat but peasant muscled bulk. Long black hair curtained a pale face that had thick lips and eyes that froze Theon in their gaze. Never before had Theon seen blue eyes like these. It was like looking into a nightmarish icy desolation. The eyes held no humanity, but seemed to see through Theon instantly. They pierced into him, sucked out energy somehow and left behind a hollow fear. Those eyes found every weakness and when the man licked his lips, Theon knew the man could taste his terror and loved it. This was the Bastard and Gods help Theon now. 

Gathering every inch of courage and willpower, Theon forced himself into a painful, sitting position that covered himself as much as he could, and spoke with agony through his cracked lips and tongue. “There has been a mistake. King Robb wants my head, not my torture. I know him well, better than anyone, he would never condone this! 

The Bastard dug a boot into Theon’s stomach. The gesture knocked the wind out of him, but the threat behind it made him almost piss himself. 

The man laughed. “You think I’m stupid? You betrayed him. You captured Winterfell. You killed his brothers, two children. You torched and destroyed Winterfell. Why would King Robb care what happened to you?”

He pressed his boot down harder, until Theon whimpered. Then he slid the boot lower, lower, until it pressed dangerously close to Theon’s manhood. 

“Down here, in my world, you are not a prince. You are not a Lord or even a proud Kraken. Barely a man at all. You are just meat, fresh meat, but that will change too. Right now, it would be very foolish of you to continue your arrogance and your protests. Screaming, weeping, begging, I expect that. But this foolish assumption that you have rights needs to end. You have no rights. You have no privileges. You will stop making demands. Do you understand me, Theon?” 

His name was hissed with such venom, Theon felt Ramsay’s spittle cover his face in a fine mist. The Bastard’s foot nudged at Theon’s manhood again, and he chuckled in sick amusement as it shriveled down in terror.

“I am not meat. I am Theon Greyjoy.” 

The rage in his captor’s eyes made Theon prepare for death. It would almost be a relief, if there were truly no hope left. He could join his brothers in the honor of the Drowned God, and maybe in death they would accept him as one of their own.

But death did not come.

Ramsay’s boot came down and smashed Theon’s testicles. The scream tore through his throat at the same time as Ramsay’s fist crashed into his jaw. Theon rolled onto his stomach. The boot moved to his head, and the threat was clear. If I move, he realized, Ramsay will start crushing my damned head. Fuck, fuck, they can’t do this to me! 

Ramsay laughed with genuine humor. “You are meat. I don’t care what your name is. I can do anything I want with you. No one cares. No one gives a shit if you are alive or dead.”

Theon laid still and silent, between fear and fury. Ramsay removed the boot then grabbed a fistful of Theon’s hair. He pulled him to his knees and Theon found himself staring at the bulge in Ramsay’s breeches. “Apologize for being so rude to me. Open my breeches, Theon.” 

Theon dragged his eyes up to meet Ramsay’s, searching for a shred of human understanding. He could understand torture, yes. Torture and blood and humiliation. But this? No man would force an act like this upon another man. It was not right; it was something beyond the cruelty of human nature. Theon imagined the shame in Balon’s eyes if he could see him this way; the way his lips would curl in disgust. The Drowned God would abandon him, too, and when he died his soul would sink to the inky black waters alone.

Ramsay growled in irritation. “No? Perhaps I should get some pliers and take care of that mouth in other ways. Or maybe just be quick about it with a hammer?” 

Groaning, trying to move, Theon uttered, “Please….don’t.” Ignoring him, Ramsay let out a low whistle and a few seconds later the door opened. 

Theon curled on the floor, holding his mouth and just stared at the three pairs of boots. “Our little lord prince is having some trouble. He doesn’t feel like obeying us today. He still thinks he is more than just meat. Theon thinks he is a proud kraken. Teach him how to suck a cock for me, boys. If he bites you, take out the rest of his teeth. You can use the pliers or the hammer if you’d like.” 

The boots started to stomp towards him and Theon wanted to beg, to scream for mercy. Instead, he started to crawl fast, as if he could get away. It earned him some kicks that cracked his ribs. Crying out, Theon tried to stop and curl up again. Only when a hand came down to yank him up by his arm, did Theon remember what they would do. He started to struggle and a lash tore across his already bloody back.

Hands wrapped around his head, forcing him forward towards a large yellow cock. Theon tried to use his fists against the man’s thighs and the man yelled, “Damon, make him scream for me.” Theon clenched his teeth tight against the searing pain of a harder lash and Dick swore. “Again.” Two in a row, both on an already infected open wound and Theon screamed. Hot flesh filled his mouth and throat. Gagging, heaving and screaming as Damon lashed him every now and then. Just to keep him strangling on that foreign flesh bruising his throat. Fingers dug hard into his scalp as Dick thrust himself in and out, groaning. “Take it, little bitch. All you are good for down here is to fuck and scream.” Damon made sure he screamed until Dick shuddered and poured hot thickness down his throat. 

Dick shoved Theon away and he vomited blood onto the floor. With more than a week of no food, his stomach was empty, and throwing up made him convulse with agony. 

They laughed at him and Ramsay shoved his head into the mess with his boot. “The next time, you swallow all of it or I’ll make you lick it up. It’s your turn, Damon. Looks like you might not as much fight as Dick did.”

Moaning, Theon tried to move away, at least from his own mess. Damon grabbed his neck, forcing Theon to kneel in his own filth. Another cock was in his face and Theon sobbed now. 

“Do you want another whipping first?” Damon asked and Theon opened his mouth, in shame and defeat. Damon took his time and anytime he instructed Theon on an action, his whip handle was ready. If the action wasn’t correct or Theon tried to avoid it, the handle shoved into a cracked rib. 

When the large man finally came, he reminded Theon to swallow it all. Struggling, Theon did his best to choke it down through a swollen throat. When Damon released him, he lay on the stones, trying not to die.


	3. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The torture worsens.

Theon spent his time alone thinking of his mother. Of his sister. Of Robb. Why had Robb not come for him? He moaned in misery and pain as images flashed across his mind: a burning castle, a battlefield of dead men, two burned boys. Of course Robb does not want me, he thought. Nobody wants me. 

He remembered being eight years old, dressed in finery as Ned Stark’s ship waited to take him away. He had cried and shook as he clung to his father’s legs, promising to be a better son if only they did not send him away. Balon had yanked him up by the hair and slapped him across the face. “Stop sniveling,” he had yelled, “What will our enemies think of people if our very own King raised a weakling failure as a son?” And then Balon had turned Theon around and shoved him toward the ship servants, without a word. Theon’s tears had blurred everything around him, and when he wiped them away quickly out of shame, Balon had gone.

Now, when he wiped his tears, there was nothing in front of him but roaches and rats feasting on the pool of his own blood that he lay in. Chunks of vomit lay among the crimson liquid and streaked across his skin. His eyes burned, and he tried not to think of the milky white substance that dried across his face.

“Remember,” he thought to himself. “Remember where you are. Who you are. You must not lose reality, no matter the pain. You must keep your mind intact. I am not meat. I am Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Isles, last remaining heir to Pyke.”

But those words sounded hollow now, especially in light of the searing pain of how his parents had rejected him. So instead, he thought of his favorite whore from the taverns, and the way she had held him. He had always told the whores, after they fucked, to hold him; to stroke his hair from his eyes; to talk to him and say his name: Theon, Theon, Theon.

Theon was almost pulled together enough to think when the footsteps returned. Damon and Dick carried a metal bull into the room. It was huge, and they struggled to carry it. They set it with a clatter in the middle of the cell, panting.

“That was heavy as fuck,” said Damon, laughing.

Dick punched Damon in the shoulder. “And you made me carry the heavy end of it. I get first dibs when we fuck him.”

Theon’s heart pounded so fast he felt like he had floated out of himself. First dibs on fucking...what? Fucking him? Would these men fuck him like a woman? The thought was too much to bear. He cringed and clamped his legs together. And what the hell was the metal bull for?

Damon and Dick rushed at Theon, lifting him by his arms and legs. They headed toward the bull, and Theon saw with lurching horror that a door for entrance was built into one side. They opened the hole and began to unceremoniously cram him inside.

“Stop!” he yelled, consumed by roaring terror now. “It’s too small!” 

His torturers ignored him and forced his limbs into terrible, unnatural positions to cram him inside. Then they slammed the door shut, locking it.

Theon could barely breathe. His limbs burned in agony and it was so dark, like the blackest depths of the sea, like he was drowning. Metal touched his body on all sides.

“Please,” he hollered, “Let me out!” 

No one responded. He could faintly hear the noises outside the bull; Damon and Dick started laughing.

“Please stop!” he begged again. He weighed whether he would be willing to suck them off like yesterday if it meant being free from this heinous device, and he realized that, yes, he would. Please! I can’t breathe like this!“ 

The laughter worsened. Theon realized that a new sound had filled the room; the sound of a bull in heat. Each time he spoke, something inside the metal device changed his voice, making his words sound like nothing but a bleating animal.

He hung his head and moaned. Piss ran down his legs, but his torment had reached a new low where nothing could make him feel more degraded. Nothing. 

“A little closer to that fire, I think. We want him to really feel this.” 

What? Theon jerked his head up. Fresh sobs began anew and his whole body shook as he cried. Fire? What fire? What was happening?

His skin was burning now, and he tried so hard to shift about. “Please! Stop, it hurts, it's burning me!”

Bull bellows transformed his voice. None of them could hear his words, and his flesh began to sizzle. 

He hammered his fists against the bull. “Please!” He pounded the walls harder, shaking the metal in the desperate hope that he could topple it over and escape. Any punishment would be worth it, worth putting an end to this hell.

“Lord Ramsay, please!” He wondered if the captives’ leader could hear him. “Put a stop to this! I’ll suck your men! I’ll let you fuck me like a woman, just please, please put an end to my torment!”

He could hear Ramsay’s voice right above him now. “I like the sound of you begging me so prettily. Turn the box around, boys. I want him to be cooked equally.” 

Theon’s right side started to cool as his left side began to heat up. This went on until Theon was feeling blisters rise and was screaming for mercy.

“Silence and listen to me!” The voice seemed to cut right through Theon’s hysterics. Suddenly, the fire stopped, and the door was yanked open. Ramsay stared inside the bull and stared at Theon, his pale eyes appraising him with disgust. 

“Now, we say you are meat. Do you agree you are just meat for us?” Ramsay’s voice sounded like kindness, like mercy.

Theon would have said anything to end being burned alive. “Yes, I am meat. Meat for you, please, let me out. I am just meat.” 

“Very good, Theon. I’m glad you’ve learned that you have no human rights anymore.”

Theon blinked and stared at Ramsay, expectantly. Wasn’t this sick beast in human skin going to let him out?


	4. Violation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought of some extra stuff to pad this out with when I was editing. Nan, I added some stuff that's new, sorry it's so different. You'll have to flay me.
> 
> This gets gruesome. Y'all been warned.
> 
> Also, the next chapter will be longer.

“Let me out,” he begged again, voice cracking. “Please? I’m meat, just meat. Please let me out.”

The glacier eyes grazed through him like he were made of shadow. Then, his captor’s lips twisted up into a cruel smirk.

“I think,” he said, slowly, “That if you want out, you have to earn your way out, after all you’ve done.”

Theon licked his lips and blinked. After all he had done? What had he done to deserve this? Then he remembered charred bodies and screams, and it all came crashing down. Theon whimpered. He deserved death; yes. He would welcome a beheading with submission and almost relief. But he could not admit he deserved THIS.

Ramsay prodded Theon’s exposed rib. “You do deserve this,” he snapped. “Every bit of it. You are so despicable you are no longer human.”

Theon started crying again, in silent tears that rolled off his face and sizzled on the metal. Could they read his mind, now? Had he really sunk so low? What must he do to make his hell end? Was there no hope?

He screamed as Dick and Damon grabbed his limbs and roughly jerked him into position. He realized, with horror, that they were forcing him onto all fours like the way he had fucked the tavern women. They pulled his legs back so his lower half was outside the box, for easier access when they...they….the thought crashed over his mind like waves and he fought to block it away like his life depended on it. His head was pushed forward, right up to the edge of the metal where he couldn’t see a thing and could hardly breathe. His arms were trapped under him, pinned and helpless.

When the first man took him, it felt like knives. Hot, stabbing knives that pierced their way into him, driving much deeper in than the fists had. He screamed and begged, but the metal bull distorted his cries to sound like the bellowings of an animal. The men around him laughed and japed as the heavy, sick stench of blood like copper surrounded him.

The second man took his turn, making even more blood pour afresh. Theon hung his head and sobbed. There was truly nothing left for him, now. No hope, no comfort, and no love in the world for him. He knew, somehow, in that moment, that he would never again feel a woman’s arms around him. He would never taste fresh water, or the pleasures of summer berries or roasted meat. He would never run freely through a forest with his bow, would never ride proudly into battle, would never again flirt with a bar wench or jape with a fellow man. He was no longer a man at all.

“Turn on the heat,” came a warped voice. “We want this to be memorable.”

Theon opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His heart pounded so hard he thought he would pass out, and prayed to all seven gods that he would pass out or die. No, he thought, No no no no no.

But the gods did not listen. The metal began to heat, and his arms began to burn and blister. He tried to move, to pull them out from under him, but he was clamped in so tightly that he could not move an inch. As he smelled his flesh burning, he realized that if he did move his arms, he would burn his entire torso instead. 

Another man took him from behind as his arms started to melt. Just as his he felt his innards beginning to cook, they took the heat off.

Ramsay opened the cage and yanked Theon out into the ground. 

Theon clung to the filthy freezing stones and shook. His mind was drowning.

Ramsay stood over him, looming like the devil himself. This was, after all, hell.

“You will not refer to your station as a lord or prince anymore,” Ramsay said, matter-of-factly. “You are just my plaything down here, understand me? If you ever act like a prince or lord again, you’ll regret it.”

Theon could not move or speak, but he blinked in what Ramsay would hopefully accept as surrender. Theon thought, one last time, of racing through the forest with Robb as they brandished their swords and hurled fake insults at each other. He remembered how they had staged a grand battle, pretending to be the Others, and run til their sides hurt and they had collapsed on the ground, drained with exhaustion and joy from the most fun they had ever had. He remembered how, five years later, he had fucked a girl for the very first time in the same forest, on the grass under the trees. Out of all the women he had been with since, she had been the most beautiful. She had stroked his face with a soft finger and told him that his eyes showed a passionate soul. 

She had told him she had loved him.

Mocking laughter filled the dungeon, and Theon realized he was sobbing out loud now.

He stayed on his hands and knees, head down. Terror pulsed through him. What if he angered this man again? What would happen to him?

“Much better,” said Ramsay. “Now this is the attitude I like on you. Terror and submission suit you very well, boy.”


	5. Drowning

Before Ramsay could do more than circle his victim, Damon poked his head in. “Lord Ramsay, your father has returned and there will be a feast tonight. A special dinner to celebrate a job well done for both of you! He shall be expecting to see your prize.” A malicious grin was all over Damon’s face and Theon flinched from it. “He doesn’t look  like much of a prize though now, does he?” 

 

Both men laughed while Theon turned red and simply hung his head lower. Fighting back will only make them stick me back in that fucking box, he thought.  Theon didn’t move when a bucket of ice cold water was brought and thrown on him. He started to frantically lick the drops of water that slid down his flesh. Sucking up what he could, tasting filth and blood, not caring. 

 

“There, that should be good enough for you.” Announced Ramsay with a cruel grin. “Aw, are you thirsty? Tell you what, I will let you earn some water. How does that sound? We can play a game for it. If you win, I will give you some water, clean fresh water. If I win, you have to fuck me.”

 

Theon stared as Ramsay leaned in, snarling more instructions. “I hate having to say something twice, meat. Make me repeat myself another time and I will flay your entire hand. You must answer every question I ask you with the complete truth. No matter what questions I ask. If you get a wrong answer I will hurt you. If you get three wrong answers in a row, I win. I can always tell when a man is lying to me.”

 

Ramsay chained Theon to a wall so he could have access to his chest, then pulled out a thin knife. He spoke in darkly cheerful tones, relishing his work in a way that made Theon feel even smaller. “Ready?” he asked. “Wonderful. First question, do you consider yourself a Greyjoy or a Stark?” 

 

“I am a Greyjoy!” Theon blurted the answer without hesitation, feeling fire in his chest. I am a Greyjoy, he thought, so when will the Ironborn come for me?

 

Ramsay snickered. “No. Don’t just blurt out stupidity-- actually think and try to answer correctly.Try again. Are you a Stark or a Greyjoy?” 

 

This time Theon thought and then blurted out in a rush, “No, no I am just meat!” Ramsay smiled and gave a playful clap. “Very good! Next question for you. Really try to use your tiny brain this time, alright?”

 

Letting the insult heap on top of his shoulders, adding more turmoil, Theon kept his head low and nodded. 

 

“Unless you are thinking of the answer, I expect you to look at me.” 

 

The icy voice had his head jerking up to meet those stormy eyes.

 

“Better. Were you good friends with Jon and Robb at Winterfell? Play together as boys and all? Train together, educated together and joked together, correct?”

 

Theon thought before he gave an automatic yes then spoke slowly. “I did be with them and try to be like them. But we were not good friends, we just pretended.” 

 

Ramsay nodded and his face was brilliantly cheerful. “Another right answer! Good boy! That is right, they never gave a shit about you. If your father had rebelled, they would have thought nothing of taking your head.”

 

Nearly in tears, Theon hoped this game would end, but Ramsay continued. “Do you still think King Robb might be coming to your rescue?” 

 

With a choked sob, he shook his head just to feel the sharp blade go through his stomach. 

 

“Why?”Theon cried, doubling over with this new agony. “I did not lie!” 

 

Ramsay stuck his face into Theon’s, then whispered into his ear. “But you do, you lie to me and yourself. You still have this small hope that something will happen to save you. King Robb is not coming for you, not your family, no one. They all think you are dead.” 

 

“Please, why are you doing this, please?” Theon broke into tears, unable to take anymore. 

 

“Oh dear, are you done with my game already?” Ramsay grinned like a little boy who shot his first squirrel.  “Wish to forfeit and accept my punishment now?” 

 

“No! No! I wish to keep playing, please.” Theon’s words poured out, fighting past a fresh wave of tears. Anything but another of Ramsay’s punishments--please, to all seven gods, anything but that.

 

“Next question--have you met my father before?” 

 

“Yes, at Winterfell and when Robb rallied his troops.” 

 

“And did you make fun of my father like the sniveling little shit you are?” drawled Ramsay. “You, along with those Starks all made fun of my father, didn’t you? Calling him the leech lord? You gave him that name, didn’t you? Answer me, Theon!” 

 

Trying to cringe back, he timidly nodded. “Yes, yes I did. I am so sorry, I swear that I am!” 

 

“Do you truly feel sorry for ever taunting or mocking my father?” 

 

“Yes! Yes I do!” Another slice of fire down his chest deeper than before and Theon cried out. 

 

“You are wrong again. Because you don’t know how sorry my father can make someone yet. You don’t understand the true meaning of sorry yet. But you will. That is three wrong and I win.”

 

Ramsay stepped very close and grabbed Theon by his chin. “You will be fucking me tonight. That means you will not fight and you will participate in it fully. Or else I will flay your arm slowly while you rip out your own vocal chords. Do you understand me, boy?” 

 

Theon couldn’t control his tears any longer. He had no choice. It stung and ached and he nodded. “I understand.” 

 

Ramsay gave a smacking kiss on Theon’s forehead, humiliating him further. “Excellent! Now, I am going to allow Damon to clean you up a bit. Cannot have you smelling of piss and shit while meeting my father, can we? Fresh, clean meat is what you can be for a little bit. That is good enough reward for you learning what you are.” Dropping his grip on Theon, he stood up fast then spoke in a cheerful tone with an undercurrent of severe threat. “To show me how grateful you are that I am rewarding you, kiss my boots.” At the same time, Ramsay had un-cuffed both of Theon’s wrists from the chains. 

 

The miserable prisoner dropped to the ground with a thud and grunt. Whimpering, Theon lowered himself and leaned forward. The boots were covered in muck and one of them had a roach trundling across it. Trying not to gag, he pressed his lips against the filth. He could taste feces, blood and mud, the roach got alarmingly close and Theon quickly switched to kiss the other boot. “Very good. Submissive scared meat is the best of flavors, I think.” Ramsay cooed and the other two tormentors laughed along with him. Theon sobbed and moved back, hoping this was over. “Get him clean enough so father won’t vomit at the smell of him.”

 

As desperate as Theon was to feel clean again, his skin was blistered, cut and whipped. The hot water was agony on his skin. When they dumped the large steaming bucket over his head, Theon screamed as if being boiled alive. The two men taunted Theon as they rubbed a rag over him quickly with a bit of soap on it. Unable to help it, he struggled and wailed as his raw flesh was scrubbed. Once the vomit and feces that could be seen was wiped off, Dick declared him cleaned enough. “Lord Bolton doesn’t think a prisoner will smell like a fucking Tyrell rose. We just need to make it so the Lord doesn’t puke at the smell of him.”

 

Damon yanked Theon’s hands behind his back and cuffed his wrists together. Dick had knelt down and was cuffing his ankles with a short chain between them. 

 

Why? Theon thought. Why am I being passive, letting them do this to me? I could have tried to at least kick at this repulsive fuck in front of me. I could have done something while I was still unfettered? Another voice responded from inside of him. It was a terrible voice, it sounded like someone who had no hope left, that sounded resigned. And yet..the voice was almost peaceful, almost like another person. 

 

Theon flinched, causing his chains to rattle and Dick to punch his thigh. “Stay still, you little fucker!” To his own sinking numbing horror, Theon apologized and went still. I am choking to death, I am drowning and yet I still keep drawing breath. I would rather they murder me, then strip me down like this. 

 

Damon and Dick left after giving him a shove that knocked him flat on the floor, taking the torch with them. He lay in the suffocating darkness, shifting as the rats and roaches came. Theon managed to get to his feet and pressed against the wall. Trying to keep sane and not panic over the crawling bugs on his flesh, the rats trying to chew through his ankles, Theon shuffled about and daydreamed. Of Roose seeing him, declaring him a traitor and taking his head.  Or going upstairs and finding Robb there to take his head. Even falling on the slimy steps and just having his skull split apart. Anything at all, but more torture from Lord Ramsay. Sweet release from this dungeon and these terrible animals that pretend to be men. 

  
Theon tried to recall his anger, his outrage, hoping it would help him stop this shaking. His jaw and remaining teeth ached with the uncontrollable chattering. 


	6. Weak

With tiny whimpers and some snarls of pain, Theon began to crawl across the floor. He scrabbled at the stones until he could stand. I am not meat, he thought, I will just tell them that so they won’t burn me anymore. But I can remember who and what I am. Theon Greyjoy, Lord Greyjoy needs to stand on his feet. He can barely shuffle forward, every step is agony and the rats are concentrating hard on his ankles now. Using the wall, Theon starts to make his way across his cell. I will go crazy, I will go insane if I don’t try to keep moving. Or eaten by the rats and bugs long before the nightmare men return.

Ramsay is coming back, he recalls that and continues walking. Feeling blood trickling down his thighs and shuddering. He is bringing me to see his father. Roose Bolton. The man he made fun of, the man who created this beast of a bastard. Struck with chills, Theon had to pause in his endless walk. There will be no help there, Roose would show no mercy to him.

No, I must have hope, just a small shred of it. Perhaps the Lord will want to ransom him back to the Greyjoys? Except his father hated him, will have disowned him over such a disgrace as this. I am trapped, trapped, Theon dug his fingers into the wall till they bled. Calm, I must stay calm or I’ll go insane. Before he could drive himself crazy further, the door crashed open. Theon jumped and nearly screamed. He managed to stay on his feet but to his shame he cowered down, clutching the wall as if it could save him.

 It was the large grinning man with the whip, Damon. His narrow eyes pinned Theon in the torchlight, nearly shoving it in his face. “Look who is standing like a man. Are you fucking stupid, boy? Did that strike to your head that Ramsay gave you addle your brains?” Theon pressed himself hard against the stones and whimpered. “Please, please, I am sorry.” Damon moved the torch away only to shove his large frame closer. He was looming over Theon now and to his despair, Theon began to cry and beg. It was that hateful little numb, almost sad voice deep inside coming forth again. Give in, just do what they want, be what they want, it has to end. We can’t take that pain again, please, give in. Just for now, just for now, give in.

“I will get on my hands and knees, please. I am sorry, Damon.” Theon was scared not just by this large sadistic man, but by his own voice. It sounded so lost, so scared and so pitiful. He cringed not just from Damon but from his father somewhere deep inside. Oh, how would Balon feel if he knew his son was brought so low? Fuck that, fuck it, I can’t care about that right now. I have to survive this, I have to make it to see Lord Bolton. It might be my one chance to at least die or go home and let my father kill me himself. “Please, I am so sorry, I will crawl, I am only meat, just meat.” To a sickening feeling of relief, swallowing bile that surged into his throat, Theon watched Damon stop stroking his whip.

 Backing up very slightly, Damon smiled at Theon and said, “That is a much better attitude.” Then his large leg swept out and knocked him to the ground. Theon cried out as his weakened body hit the stones and he felt blisters burst on his arms and chest. “Hands and knees, meat. You need a lesson in remembering what you are told.” Theon whimpered but stayed as low as he could, shivering and silent.

“That is where you belong, you little cunt. At my fucking feet. You are lower than Ramsay’s dogs.” Theon nodded wildly, shamed but agreeing, trying to remember not to make it worse. “What are you again?” The whip cracked hard on his thigh and he screamed out, “Meat! I am only meat!” “Louder!” Another agonizing blast of fire ripping through the skin on his fingers. His left hand moved under him and Damon struck harder. “Do not ever dare to move away from me! Don’t you ever deny us anything, Meat!”

“I won’t, I won’t..deny you.” Hoping it would appease, it worked with Ramsay he thinks, so Theon struggles hard with his pride then drowns it. Scurrying forward, Theon kisses Damon’s filthy boots. “I am just meat. Just meat. Please.” Oh, how his head ached and every part of him screamed in denial when Damon laughed then gave Theon a playful pat on the head. “Good little bitch. Ramsay is right, sniveling, and groveling suits you. Now, you better start praying that you aren’t so repulsive, that Roose decides you should be flayed alive. Skinner has been dying to meet you, he would have the chance then to really get creative. Move, you little cunt!”

Damon cracked the whip and Theon began to crawl. They went down several hallways, the whip and a large boot ready to strike if Theon wasn’t crawling fast enough. I am out, out of the cell, I could try and run, I could. I don’t know where I am, I can’t imagine the horror of what Ramsay would do to me if I ran and was caught. Of course, he would get caught, Theon continued to crawl, the skin tearing off his hands and knees.

Other cells were on either side and he could hear screams, he could hear crying and begging for mercy that will never come. The smells of copper, burnt flesh and shit was everywhere, not just his cell. It was so thick, he gagged.”Oh dear, are we offending you, Lord Greyjoy? Should we have cleaned up here first before you came to us?”

 Theon shuddered and just responded, “No, I am only meat. I have no name, just meat.” Damon sneered and lifted him by his hair to his feet. “Are you sure, want to walk on two feet, go greet Lord Bolton with a little dignity? You can, sure you can, Ramsay is waiting with him and will be thrilled to see you that way, don’t you think?” Damon started to drag him out of the dungeon and the air was better now. “Please, don’t, don’t make me, please! I am sorry, I am just meat and I need to crawl!”

He bit back the curses, the useless threats he wanted to make and pleaded to go onto the floor again. “Pathetic little fuck.” Damon threw Theon to the ground and cracked the whip so it barely touched Theon’s face. “I could ruin that pretty face, you know. I think you should thank me for the consideration and care I have been showing you.” Nearly strangling on the sentence, Theon managed it. “Thank you for taking good care of me. I am very grateful.”

 The large man seemed to lose interest in tormenting Theon and just drove him forward even when they reached a staircase. It was unforgiving steep stone and had at least thirty steps that Theon could count. He didn’t dare ask to stand, just began to struggle his way up the steps. Halfway up, Damon stopped and grabbed Theon by the neck. “Too fucking slow.” He muttered and wrapped an arm around Theon’s waist. “So tiny, I could throw you into a wall and you would shatter into pieces. Useless little piece of shit.”

Theon tried to hold back of sob of despair as the large man just lifted him. He dangled, watching the stairs go by as Damon climbed. At the top, Damon tossed him to the clean floor covered in rushes. It was a sweet relief and compared to the dungeon, it was mercy. Theon hurried back to his hands and knees, head down. He wanted to give Damon no further need to whip him.

 Devastating enough to appear before Lord Bolton naked covered only in wounds and new lines of blood. To be driven towards him like cattle while Damon whipped him was unbearable, unthinkable. Grinning, Damon came to lean over Theon and he found himself touching his chest to the ground in fearful submission. Balon, Ned, Robb, don’t think of them, just get through this. Get to Roose, plead for a merciful death, just take it.

A large hand yanked his hair to make his head almost pull straight up. “Please! I have been good! Just meat!” His outburst happened before Theon was aware of it. “Shut up. Ramsay wants you to wear something to meet his father. I almost forgot about it.” For a brief second, Theon was relieved, he was thrilled and filled with something like hope. Something to wear? Ramsay must have come to his senses and sent breeches or rags even! He won’t have to meet Lord Bolton naked.

 

Then Damon showed Theon the spiked collar like a dog would wear. Except these spikes were smaller and on the inside of the collar as well as outside. There was a chain leash that was attached by a small ring on the front of the black leather. They can’t...they cannot put a collar on me like a dangerous animal, like a dog! He can and he will and if you don’t wear it there will be something worse, whispered that little voice. So he stayed still while Damon wrapped the cold collar around his neck. Instantly, as it tightened, Theon felt the sharp metal pinching into his flesh. “Please! I’ll be good!” He cried out, as he felt his blood trickle from some of the spikes.

Damon fastened the collar and then wrapped his large hand around Theon’s neck. He whimpered, not just can this man crush his windpipe, the hand could make the spikes bury themselves deep into his skin. “Tell me that you want to be a good boy, I like watching you beg like a pathetic little creature.” Oh I hate you, I hate you, if I had a sword, or a bow and arrow, but I don’t, but I hate you. Theon looked up timidly and begged. “I want to be a good boy. Please don’t hurt me anymore, I will be a good boy. I swear it.”

 

His tormentor’s eyes were nearly glowing and Theon could tell that his cock was hard. It bulged and Damon grabbed Theon’s collar, pulling him towards it. He slammed Theon’s face against his crotch. “Kiss me through my breeches, kiss it like you want to suck me more than you want another whipping.” Obeying the harsh command, the collar spikes were digging and he couldn't take it anymore.Theon kissed the bulge with bloody lips frantically.

 “I want to make you suck me while wearing this collar. Don’t have time for it now, but trust me, meat. I will bring these toys back to the cell for us to play with. I wouldn’t want you to be bored when you are resting in your comfy cell. Don’t get your hopes up, Lord Bolton will send you back to them soon enough. We have wasted enough time, let’s go. Move, bitch!” Theon tried very hard to crawl and match Damon’s large fast strides. A few times he was dragged as the spikes dug deeper and Theon would whimper with it. They finally reached a small dark room, lit with only candles here and there. The rushes were clean and soft, the room was warm compared to the dungeon. And so clean, not a bug or rat in sight, thank the Gods.

 

Theon didn’t dare look up when Damon stopped moving. He just went still and stayed on his hands and knees, staring at the rushes. Goosebumps prickled across his flesh as he could feel those icy eyes on him, he knew Ramsay was there, watching him. Lord Bolton was in there too, even though Theon couldn’t see him, he could feel him assessing him. Damon’s voice was suddenly more respectful and formal than he was before. “Lord Bolton, Lord Ramsay, I have brought the prisoner. Do you wish me to stay and handle him for you?”

Theon cringed as he heard Ramsay’s voice, laced with amusement and malice. “Handle him for us, Damon? Why? Has he dared to misbehave after our lessons?” Holding his breath and nearly ready to piss himself, Theon stayed frozen. “No, the little bitch is a weak little cowardly thing. Had to carry him up the stairs, he crawled so slowly on them. He behaved though.” For one crazy second, Theon wanted to kiss Damon’s boots. He could have lied and Ramsay would believe it, hurt him worse. What Damon did was a mercy and Theon must remember that.

  
“Very well then. You may go.” The soft voice was like a bolt through Theon and he was attacked by memories of Roose sitting with Robb at the war council. The image of riding a horse next to the strange cold man and making snide comments as a teenager. He and Robb both ended up getting thrashed by Ned for their disrespect. Damon handed Ramsay the leash and left with a bow to Lord Bolton and Theon somehow felt abandoned. “It is time for you meet my father, meat.” It is my one chance, it has to be, I can do this, I can. Theon crawled obediently next to Ramsay towards a shiny pair of boots. This might be my only chance….  


	7. Leech

His nose nearly touched the rushes and Theon didn’t dare to even look up at the boots. Now that he was here in front of Roose, he was frozen. Every inch of him was yearning to throw himself upon the man’s mercy. Ramsay was holding the leash tight, so the spikes dug in a bit in warning to Theon to behave. Theon hated himself for obeying, staying still and silent.

 Waiting for Roose to speak, he still clung to that last shred of hope, deep in his aching chest. Then that soft voice that he knows so well came forth. “What is this, Ramsay?” “It is the prisoner you wanted to see. His name was Theon Greyjoy.” “Was, Ramsay?” Roose’s voice seemed even softer now and Ramsay sounded defiant now. “Yes, was. Now he is just meat, stinking meat.”

Theon felt an unbearable wave of shame well up inside him then to his ultimate horror, tears hit the floor from his cheeks. “I told you I needed Theon Greyjoy, I needed him as a man. Not whatever this...this...creature is.” Here it was, here was Theon’s moment! All he had to do was speak. He just had to speak as Theon Greyjoy and Roose would stop Ramsay!

 Except the bastard seemed to know exactly what Theon was thinking. Ramsay jerked hard on the leash, causing the spikes to sink in. At the same time he stepped hard onto Theon’s hand, hard enough to bruise but with the warning that bones might break if he didn’t behave. Another suffocating moment of shame as Theon submitted.

 In supplication, to show he wouldn’t disobey, he lowered his head more, digging painfully into the spikes. It must have been the right thing to do because Ramsay let go of the tension in the leash. He felt absurdly grateful as the spikes merely sat upon the small wounds. How he hated himself. A bitter sharp hatred that tasted of copper filled his mouth as he lowered his head onto the rushes this time. Ramsay took his foot off Theon’s hand and that little voice deep inside rejoiced.

 “See, father? I have tamed him, he is not an arrogant little shit, useless traitor like Lord Theon Greyjoy was. I contacted his father, tried to ransom him back in exchange for Moat Cailtin. The stupid cunt rejected it. He said he would just disown his disobedient, disloyal son. He became meat then, so I decided to make him useful in another way. I promise you, he will do anything we wish him to. This little pathetic disowned, unwanted boy will be loyal, he will never betray us.”

Theon was reeling over the news of Balon just rejecting him, leaving him to this….does he understand what he is leaving him to? Yes, yes he does know because Theon remembers why he named Roose the leech lord. So many times did his father get drunk and tell demeaning stories of their enemies.

 Balon told them of Roose’s leeches, he told tales of flayed bodies, of the infamous Dreadfort Dungeons. And his own father has left him to that fate without a single bit of remorse. He tried to not make a sound or move, but he couldn’t help the sobbing or shaking in such an emotional hurt, it nearly killed him.

 He was only vaguely aware of the conversation between Roose and Ramsay. Then he felt the leash stiffen again and he instantly moved his neck up with it. “I will prove to you that he is broken to my will. That he will do anything he is told to do. And since you have had such a long trip you could use some amusement, father.” Theon tensed and tried to keep from whimpering in fear. Ramsay’s voice was pure sweet acid and he knew that meant something very bad. “Are you paying attention, meat?”

In a near strangled voice, Theon responded, “Yes, My Lord.” :Good. Now, do you recall our conversation about your calling my father a rather distasteful and disrespectful name?” With a quick sob, Theon said he did remember it. “I think you owe my father an apology, don’t you?” “Yes, of course I do, My Lord. Lord Bolton, please forgive me for my disrespect.” Dryly, Roose commented, “For a broken boy, he sounds very proper, Ramsay.”

 Terror shook Theon as he could actually feel Ramsay tense in anger at him. He could almost feel the wrath about to fall upon him. “He is quite stupid, father. But he will learn every single day, until he is perfect. This meat doesn’t know how to speak properly yet, but he does know how to behave and obey orders. I will show you, watch.”

Ramsay yanked hard on the leash again and Theon couldn't’ suppress the scream this time. Then the man leaned down to tilt his head in front of Theon’s. Those eyes drove icy needles straight into his head and Theon whined in miserable fear. Ramsay made every word clear and distinct, he spoke very slowly.

 “You speak like a Lord would, but you aren’t a Lord. You are just meat, lower than an animal. Lower than a spider. Maybe lower than a leech. Or maybe just like a leech. Just a squirming thing for someone to sneer at and step on. That is what you are! Not meat. A fucking little leech. My father does like a good leech. So as a better apology, you will be a leech for him.”

Leaning closer into Theon’s shocked face, he nearly whispered the last bit. “You will squirm your way across the floor to him, then suck his cock like a leech would suck his flesh. You will swallow down everything he spills into your mouth like a leech would greedily guzzle his blood.” Theon felt bile surge into his mouth and he forced it back down. “I..please...I just can’t.”

 The reaction was instantaneous and merciless. Ramsay jerked the leash while standing fast until Theon was screaming. The spikes were fully embedded deep into the wounds and Theon was choking against the tight leather. “What did you say to me, meat? I don’t want to hear a single word from your mouth. You are worthless, useless, not a single person would piss on you if you were on fire. This is all you are now, all you have is this. If you don’t want to for another round in the bull, I would do as you are told.”

The angry whisper into his ear seared through his head and Theon was sure he was going to go insane. The leash went slack and Theon crashed to the ground, limp. Ramsay kicked hard into his stomach then mildly said allowed, “I told you to do something, meat. Do not make me repeat myself.”

 Theon couldn’t go back into the bull, he just couldn’t. With a cry of total despair, Theon lowered his whole body onto the rushes, laying out flat. “Very good, meat! Now arms tight against your sides, just like that. Now your legs, put them tight together. Perfect. Squirm your way to my father, little leech.” Ramsay’s voice was full of sharp pleasure that made Theon cry into the rushes.

He forced his body to awkwardly squirm forward, hearing Ramsay give laughing taunting encouragement. “Wiggle more or you’ll never get there, leech!” Theon ground his sore remaining teeth together and a sharp edge of broken tooth cut into his lip. He obeyed and in his mind he was screaming.

Oh, how I fucking hate you! I hate you! Ramsay Bolton, you fucking bastard, I swear I will disembowel you! Roose, I will rip your cock off, chew it with my broken fucking teeth! Yet, his raging threats were silent and he squirmed for an eternity until he reached those boots again.

 This time when he was in front of those boots, he didn’t feel any hope left. Only an empty hateful fear that couldn’t win over his fear of Ramsay. The little voice encouraged him to do as he was told. “You may kneel up now, meat. Do not move your arms from your sides. Then suck my father like a good leech. And if you even slightly graze a tooth across my father’s cock, I will rip every tooth out of your head.”

 Theon couldn’t, he just couldn’t! What would Ned think, what would Balon think or Robb? That small voice told him that Ned was gone, Balon has disowned him and Robb no longer cared. So he slowly knelt up with his arms at his sides, hands in tight fists, nails digging into his palms. Roose has said nothing nor has he moved once. Theon was faced with Roose’s crotch and he had a large bulge.

“Use what remains of your teeth to undo the laces, meat.” Ramsay spoke as if Theon were a young child that cannot understand things well. With a twitch in his head and whimpers that he can’t control, Theon leaned forward. I can’t, I just can’t, please, don’t let this happen. The voice came back and assured him that he could get through this. He could do this so Ramsy won’t put him back in the bull. So Theon started to use his sore teeth to yank at the laces. Soon a large hard pink cock burst forth and Theon began to pant in disgust and panic.

 He began to make a keening sound and just stared at the repulsive thing that he couldn’t, just couldn't put in his mouth. “You have done well, now suck my father’s cock until he fills you up, leech.” The cold order from Ramsay made Theon flinch and he fought back his panic. Leaning forward, Theon allowed the voice to soothe him. The second Theon put his mouth around the tip of Roose’s cock, Ramsay began to coach him.

 Trying so hard not to gag, Theon suckled at the tip of the cock before slowly moving down, according to Ramsay’s instructions.He went deeper and sucked harder, trying to go further but unable to. He heaved then but that is when two cold hands grabbed the back of his head. “Keep sucking, leech.” Roose’s soft words were worse than the soft but harsh breaths he had been taking while Theon sucked.

 The man suddenly slammed his hips forward and Theon was choking, strangling on a tube of flesh lodged in his throat. Just as he was sure he was dying, Roose pulled out. As soon as Theon took a breath, Roose slammed back down his throat. Then proceeded to fuck his face ruthlessly. “Keep sucking, leech. Suck hard.” Came the soft order as Roose’s balls slapped onto Theon’s chin. Then the hands on his head tighten so hard, Theon thought the nails would pierce into his skull. Roose groaned and hot liquid began to drown him.

 “Swallow it, every drop, suck it down, you greedy little leech. Here it is, here is your dinner, leech.” Roose murmured, as Theon tried to swallow and not vomit. He managed to keep himself from vomiting but it was a very close thing. When Roose released him, Theon collapsed to the ground, sobbing like a child. He had no dignity left, just hatred, fear and shame. The hatred had tasted of copper, but now the taste of semen covered it. Theon was truly just wishing to die and he cried because he knew he would not get his only wish.   


End file.
